


The Unusual Suspect

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-29
Updated: 2005-05-28
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shapeshifter targets Wesley and the rest of AI in a quest for vengeance. There's a little F/G at the beginning but just to maintain canon. Essentially  mid-season 3, except Groo didn't come back in WITW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not His Best Day Ever

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

It was nights like this that made her never want to leave her boyfriend’s side. Winifred Burkle had spent all night with Gunn. Talking, kissing…. just being with him (her favorite part). They usually met in the morning for breakfast, but their all-nighter had reneged that routine. Gunn had expressed a need for a shower and clean clothes so he was resolute to returning to his apartment before beginning the day at Angel Investigations. That was the plan, at least. For the past couple hours, he had been attempting to execute it. Finally, he could delay no longer. Fred gave him one last kiss and he walked out the door.

Fred watched him from the window she always did as he walked to his car with his machismo swagger, but Fred could see through it. She saw Gunn stop as he saw someone in the parking lot. It was Wesley. He was here pretty early, but it was nice to see him arriving at the hotel instead of seeing him waking up, locked in his office, with his nose buried in a book. 

“So did you enjoy your night off, English? One more night seeing you wake up in the office and I was gonna buy you a hooker for a night,” Gunn said with a chuckle.

“Uh….yes. It was quite relaxing.”

“I would think so. I’m surprised to see you in so early, don’t you ever sleep in?”

“What’s that you Americans say, ‘early bird gets the worm’?”

“Yeah, but you’re taking it to the extreme.”

There was something off about Wesley. Maybe it was just that he wasn’t sleep- deprived and scruffy, but there was something else. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but his instincts were tugging at him. 

“So any new revelations on this prophecy thing?”

“No, just same-old, same-old.”

“So what do we know so far?”

Wesley paused for a second. “I’ll give the whole group a full briefing when everyone gets in.”

Now his instincts were screaming at him. He just stared at Wes still trying to figure out what was up. There was something….Wes just stared at him with his brown— it wasn’t Wes. Wes had blue eyes. He wasn’t wearing contacts, because he still had his glasses on. Gunn started to back away. He had to get Angel. Just a few more steps to the hotel and…he heard the shot and briefly saw the flash, but before he could process anything blackness enveloped him. 

Fred couldn’t believe her eyes. Perhaps if this was a cartoon, she would have rubbed her eyes in disbelief. Her mind frozen, she didn’t even realize her feet were taking her down the stairs of the Hyperion and when she did, she lost her rhythm and fell the last couple of steps. It was painful, but the adrenaline rushing through her didn’t allow it to slow her down. She grabbed the cordless at the front desk without even thinking and ran out to the parking lot where Gunn was lying motionless. She didn’t look for Wes, as caution warranted, but he was gone anyway. She nearly vomited at the sight of her Charles in this state. His head was bloody, but there was no gray matter visible so there was a chance. She dialed 911 and checked for a pulse simultaneously. It was there, barely.

The ambulance took an excruciatingly long 5 minutes. She stepped back in shock as the paramedics went to work. She could probably understand most of what they were talking about. She had taken a couple human physiology classes as electives in achieving her physics major, but she didn’t want to hear or understand. It might as well have been gibberish the way her mind was functioning. Out of the din of medical jargon, one of the paramedics asked a poignant question.

“Who shot him? Did you see it?”

“I can’t believe it, I just can’t,” Fred managed to say in low whisper.

“Ma’am?”

“It was Wesley. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce,” she said with more conviction.

“You knew the shooter?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know where he—?”

“Yes.” Fred was in utter disbelief as she told the paramedic where her friend lived so they could arrest him.

 

Wesley woke up dry-mouthed in his bed. Despite his hangover from his alcoholic exploits the night before, it was a beautiful morning and for a couple seconds he forgot about all the troubles that loomed on the horizon and were yet to appear.

But that was the nature of the beast. Wesley was the boss and with responsibility, inevitably came problems and worries. Wesley began his morning ritual—shower, shave, breakfast, brushing his teeth, etc. The rigid structure of his schooling in England had enforced developing such a ritual. Of course, spending many nights at the Hyperion researching had excused him from it, but being home he couldn’t fall out of the habit.

A rough knock at the door interrupted his shaving. He wiped the remaining shaving cream from his face and went to the door. He looked in the peephole. Police? Before he could process what police would be doing at his door, the door slammed open and he was on the ground being handcuffed.

“What is going on?”, the ex-watcher protested.

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce you are under arrest for attempted murder of Charles Gunn—”

“What?!” 

Wesley’s mind raced. This was not happening. It must a dream or something. It didn’t make any sense. Someone had tried to kill Gunn and the police seemed sure that he was the culprit. At least Gunn was alive, thank god for that small favor. He had drunk quite a lot by American standards last night, but he was English, so he hadn’t really had enough for a blackout. No, it wasn’t possible.

The bulky policeman was telling him his rights, but Wesley couldn’t comprehend anything. The other policemen were searching his apartment. Briefly, he mused at what they would think of some of the books they would find. Of course, that was last on the list of his problems.

 

Angel hadn’t heard the shot, Connor had been crying so he figured later that that must have drowned out the sound. He did hear the ambulance. Rather unremarkable to hear in any major U.S. city, but as the sound grew closer, he grew more interested. Angel started to step outside to the parking lot, but it was daylight so he could only look from the hotel with the door open. Fred was there, crying—he saw why. Gunn was on the ground. Angel could smell the blood from where he was standing. The paramedics were hovering over Gunn, he couldn’t see where the street fighter was hit. 

Angel felt helpless, which was not a feeling he was used to nor particularly liked. He was reduced to calling out to Fred to try and get some answers.

“Fred, what happened?” Angel said loud enough for the paramedics to turn their heads. 

“Wesley. It was Wesley. Still can’t believe it myself.” Fred said in a weak voice, walking over to Angel. 

“Wesley? What about Wesley?”

“He shot Charles in the head.”

“Gunn is he—?”

Fred shook her head. “The paramedics say they’ll know more when they get to the hospital.” 

“Wesley did this? Fred, are you sure?”

“I have to go. They’re taking him,” Fred said as she turned back to see the paramedics lifting him up on the stretcher. 

“Go. I’ll meet you there.”

Angel ran back inside. He saw Lorne looking outside at the ambulance. 

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Gunn. Wes shot him. I’m meeting Fred at the hospital. Take care of Connor and call Cordelia.”

“Wesley did what?” Lorne said in disbelief, but Angel was already out the door heading through the tunnels. 

Wesley had, of course, been arrested before, but he had never been processed. It was a rather humiliating ritual. Fingerprints, picture, emptying of his pockets, asinine questions. After his “booking”, Wesley was seated in an interrogation room, while he continued to wait. That was worst part Wesley had decided. The waiting. By the time, a detective had finally shown, Wesley was almost ready to confess, just so he wouldn’t have to wait anymore. 

“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, how are we today?”, the pale red-haired detective asked in a rather nondescript manner while reading what Wesley assumed was the case file. 

“Well, I’m sitting here, arrested on suspicion of murder, how the bloody hell do you think I’m doing?”

“Suspicion is too light of a term I’d say, we have a pretty credible witness saying you shot Charles Gunn, this morning at approximately 6:35.”

“Whatever witness you have must be mistaken. I spent the whole morning at home.”

“So, it says here you are the head of Angel Investigations, a private detective agency. Charles Gunn was your employee. Did Charles show up late to work too many times?”

“Gunn, everyone calls him Gunn. Only Fred called him Charles”, Wesley said in a more sober tone. This was intolerable. He needed to be at the hospital like Gunn had done for him. 

 

“Fred?” The detective said looking down at his file. “Winifred Burkle. The two were an item?”

Wesley shook his head in affirmation. This was getting old already. He wondered if he was making a mistake talking to this detective. On the TV shows, they always had a lawyer with them. But Wesley was sure of his innocence so what would he have to hide?

This wasn’t like before. He was clear-headed this time, but he still didn’t know what to do. There was one thing he was sure he had to do. Call Angel.


	2. Not getting any better...

Angel was having difficulty finding areas in the hospital without any direct sunlight. The hospital was a modern one that believed sunlight kept the spirits of the patients up. He found Fred in a spot of the waiting area in the surgery wing that was relatively dark. Fred saw him and got up, giving him a hug that channeled all her frustration and fear. The vampire was touched by her expression, but the moment was interrupted by his ringing cell phone.

“Angel”, he answered with some annoyance.

“Angel, it’s Wesley. I need you to listen to me. I—”

“Wes, turn yourself in.”

“I’ve been arrested.”

“Oh.”

“You have to know, Angel. I didn’t do this. This is some kind of—“

“Fred saw you.”

“It could have been a spell or a shape-shifter demon. I’m guessing Wolfram and Hart are perhaps behind this.”

“Wes, just tell me you didn’t do this and I’ll believe you, but if you’re lying you know I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“I didn’t shoot Gunn. I’m innocent.” 

Angel could hear Wesley’s conviction and went with his instincts, “Ok, we’ll work off that assumption.”

“Angel, how is he?”

“Still in surgery. Docs say he won’t regain consciousness anytime soon, if ever.”

“And Fred?”

“She’s holding it together. I don’t think the sight of you shooting Gunn will leave her mind anytime soon.”

“Angel, you have to make her understand, I didn’t do this.”

“I would think you’d do a better job at that than me, but I’ll try. So any ideas? It seems you’ve had the most time to think about this.”

“Well, first you have to talk to Fred and get her to tell you exactly what she saw. Maybe she can give us some clue of what we’re dealing with. I would say Wilson’s Compendium of Spells and Mystical Chants would be the best place to start. Also there’s some shape shifting demons you can look into in the database. Everything’s cross-referenced so it shouldn’t be hard.”

“Sounds good for us, but I doubt that will convince the LAPD.”

“Well, I haven’t been formally charged yet, but it seems to be imminent. I’m not entirely clear on the legal system here, but I believe at some point I could be offered bail.”

“We need your expertise. I’m not exactly the best researcher and Fred’s certainly not up to heavy researching. I suppose Cordelia and I can make the best of it until we can get you out of there.”

“Angel I don’t need to remind you that whoever impersonated me, could perhaps impersonate any of us. Be careful.”

“I’m a vampire, remember? Bullets can’t kill me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, listen Wesley I have to go. Do you need a lawyer?”

“I think my public defender should be suitable for now. I’ll call again at the next phone time. Hopefully we’ll know more then.”

“You be careful yourself, Wesley.” Angel said with mixed feelings.

Fred was sitting down at the same spot that Angel had found her, pretending not to hear Angel’s phone conversation. Angel wasn’t sure how he was going to do this, but he had to try.

“Fred, that was Wesley. He’s been arrested.”

“What…what did he say?” 

“He says he didn’t do it.” Fred didn’t respond. “Fred, I can’t imagine how hard this must be to listen to, but I need you to hear me out.”

 

Cordelia had never cursed the LA traffic so much before, she surprised even herself. It wasn’t as bad as some mornings, but this morning’s traffic just exacerbated her anger. 

Was she angry? She didn’t even know. What was the appropriate reaction to this?   
She couldn’t understand why Wesley would do it. He had had his eyes on Fred—Gunn had pretty much eliminated that possibility for now, but Wesley would never do a thing like that.…No, it just wasn’t possible. Wesley was the boss. He was the reliable one. The one you could count on to tell you to do the right thing and to always do the right thing. She sounded so sure in her head, but the facts contradicted what she knew.

Finally, the torture ended. She pulled her jeep into the parking lot of the hospital and followed the signs to the surgery waiting room. She saw Angel and Fred in a dark corner of the waiting room. Fred was sitting, staring blankly ahead at the TV hanging on the wall. Angel noticed Cordelia coming in and stood up. 

“How is he?” Cordelia said approaching the two. 

“Still in surgery.” 

“Fred, I’m so sorry.”

Fred noticed Cordelia’s presence for the first time. “Thank you, Cordy, for coming.” 

“How are you doing? No wait that’s a stupid question. Forget I asked.”

“It’s ok, Cordy.” Angel tried to comfort her with some arbitrary statement of ok-ness. Cordy responded with a gentle smile. There was an awkward silence, until Fred returned to her distant stare and Angel pulled Cordy aside. 

“I’m not sure how much Lorne has told you—“

“Pretty much everything you told him. Wes shot Gunn.”

“Cordy, they arrested Wes this morning. He just called me on my cell about half an hour ago.”

“And?”

“He says he didn’t do it and I’m inclined to believe him.”

“Have you told Fred this?”

“I tried. As you can see she’s still a bit shell-shocked, but I don’t think she wants to believe that Wes did it anymore than the rest of us.”

“So what are looking for here: a demon, evil robot, witch?”

“Something like that. Wesley suspects Wolfram and Hart, but I’m not so sure.”

“Yeah, it’s not their usual modus operandi.”

Angel looked at Cordy with a discerning look. 

“Dictionary.com”

“Oh”

“No, I’m not some weirdo doppel-Cordy,” Cordelia said in a slightly annoyed tone. “So where do we start?”

“Research. Wes said to start with Wilson’s Compendium and the database. We’ll see what we can come with. Anything to let us know what’s going on.”

 

Wesley started his morning off a little better than he did yesterday’s. He wasn’t arrested this morning or hung over, but he was still in jail, wearing one of those orange suits that one automatically associated with a hardened criminal or drug dealer. He tried to keep to himself and abstained from shaving to make himself look a little tougher. After breakfast, the boredom was broken by a guard telling him that he had a visitor. Probably his public defender, Wesley assumed.

Wesley walked down the drab prison hall accompanied by a burly guard and into the small equally drab room with a cheap wooden table and 4 chairs. Two men, one in his fifties and one younger, were sitting in the chairs across from him. Wesley was shocked to recognize both of them. 

“Hello, father.” Wesley said calmly, trying to hide his utter shock. “Lindsey, it’s been a while. What the hell are you doing here?”

` “Wesley, Mr. MacDonald is here to help you. He’s going to be your lawyer,”  
Wesley’s father said with a paternal force that both comforted and commanded.

“This is absurd, I’d rather take my chances with my 20-year-old public defender than this po—“

“You listen to me, boy.” Wesley’s father interrupted with a fiery and oddly gentle voice. “You’ve got yourself in this idiotic mess, but I’m going to get you out of it, whether you like it or not. No son of George Wyndam-Pryce is going to prison.”

Wesley tried to say something rebellious, but he choked on his first syllable and the fear and self-doubt he had pushed down since his last conversation with his father rose and kept him from saying anything at all.

Lindsey spoke up, “You don’t like me and this obviously isn’t where I’d like to be, but you’re in deep shit and I hate to use an overtaxed cliché but ‘beggars can’t really choose which lawyer’s gonna get them off a murder rap that they’re caught red-handed on’.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m innocent.” Wesley said indignantly, trying to regain some confidence. 

“Wesley, don’t be a idiot. Oh wait. Too late for that. You’re the one who shot your employee in broad daylight with your own gun.”

“I was asleep in my bed, the whole morning, until the police arrested me.”

“How long are you going to keep up this charade, Wesley? The police already know it. Your own employee identified you. Just fess up to us and we can get on with this.”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s innocent or not, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce. With the evidence they have, it’ll be a challenge either way. But that’s why your father hired the best, Wesley,” Lindsey said with smug smile.

Wesley stared at Lindsey with incredible loathing, not because he disagreed with Lindsey, but because he knew he was right. It didn’t matter if Wesley was sure of his innocence. No one else was; and that made Wesley, for the first time since his rogue demon hunter days, feel incredibly alone.


	3. Punching is fun!

“Ugh, this is torture,” Cordy exclaimed, breaking the silent and sober mood in Wesley’s office. They had been researching since the evening before, when they realized there was nothing more they could do at the hospital after Gunn made it out of surgery. Lorne had taken over the vigil at Gunn’s bedside with Fred. 

They had made a jumbled list of possible spells, persons, demons, and solutions to how Fred saw someone who looked exactly like Wesley. Now they were organizing that list, by possibility, who would implement such a method, motive, etc. It was tedious work, but it allowed them to keep their minds off Gunn and to feel some semblance of usefulness. 

“I’m going out to get some coffee and donuts. O-Pos just goes straight to my hips”, Cordy said getting up from her jumbled mess of books and papers on the floor. 

“All right, we’ve got a lot done, but we still don’t have a clue what we’re dealing with here,” Angel said from his position at Wesley’s desk. He got up too and headed toward the fridge for a break. Cordy started to walk out the door of the Hyperion into the courtyard, but stopped as an aging man walked through the door. He was dressed sharply in a navy blue suit with all grey hair, but a youthful complexion accented by his blue eyes just like—

“Hello, I am—“

“Wesley’s father, I can see the family resemblance. Hi, I’m Cordelia Chase.” Cordelia said trying to sound professional. Mr. Wyndam-Pryce extended his hand and Cordelia accepted, once again trying to match the professionalism that Wesley’s father exuded.

“And you are…?”

“Angel,” he said walking over to join the two.

“You both work for my son?”

“Yes, well, more like ‘with’, but Wesley’s the boss. We’re really like a family here.” 

“So I assume you’re here because of Wesley’s arrest, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce,” Angel said, still not sure how to approach the topic.

“Yes, please call me George.”, Wesley’s father said in a gentle voice. “I came when I heard of his arrest. A colleague in New York informed me of this unpleasant occurrence. Please give my condolences to Mr. Gunn’s family.”

“Thank you, but we’re pretty much all the family Gunn has in the area.”

“How is he?”

“He made it through surgery, but he’s still unconscious. The doctors aren’t really sure if he’ll wake up.”

“I’m sorry.” Wesley’s father said sincerely. “So this is where my son runs his little business. A private detective agency, yes?”

“Yeah. You know the usual, divorce cases, missing persons…it pays the bills,” Cordelia lied, unsure of how much he knew.   
“Oh, I was under the impression you dealt with more supernaturally inclined cases.”

“Oh, yeah of course, you know, have to maintain a front for the tourists.” Cordelia said awkwardly. “So I don’t think Wesley told us what you do, George?”

“I own a company that sells rare books and other supernatural items. We’re quite successful, we now have an office on every inhabited continent with the opening of our 9th office in Hong Kong.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yes, it is a good business. One I had hoped Wesley would pursue, but he of course had other plans. I can’t imagine this type of business makes much money, especially in such an impoverished city as this.”

“We do all right, we take a lot of cases pro bono, but the ones that pay usually pay decent. That’s not what we’re here for.” Angel chimed in.

“Oh, yes, Wesley has told me about the mission of your organization. Very good”, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce said in an oddly dismissive tone.

“Well, enough small talk, I must be on my way. I’m picking up a suit at Wesley’s apartment and a few of his personal items.”

“It was nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure was mine. Ms. Chase, Mr. Angel.” He said politely and walked out the same way he came in.

“Wow, did it just get ten degrees colder in here or what?” Cordelia said. “All right, I am donut-bound.”

 

 

“I told you for the hundredth time. 2 AM. I came home at 2 AM. I drank about 10 beers over a 5-hour period and a couple shots of whiskey. I was drunk, but I walked home from the bar and fell asleep. My alarm woke me at 8 AM and then the police knocked on my door at 8:30 am. You have all that written down, why the bloody hell are you asking me again?”

“You were always the patient one, Wes, what happened? Need your afternoon tea? Maybe we can get some in here. I want to make sure your telling the truth or at least lying well enough that you have your story down. I can’t have your credibility shot by a continuity error. That’s the only thing you got going for you now. So what’d you have for breakfast that morning?”

“I told you, I hadn’t had breakfast yet. I was still shaving.”

“Good. That’s good. All right, enough of this. We have the arraignment tomorrow. The DA’s gonna oppose bail, but I think we’ll get it.”

“That’s what my father’s paying you for, right? To get me off at any and all costs.”  
“You have a problem with that, Wesley?”

Wesley gave a look that said he did.

“You’re unbelievable, incredible. You’re sitting here facing life in prison and preaching to me moral bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Lindsey.”

“Oh, I understand. I gave up the evil law firm, remember?”

“Yes, after you nearly killed me, caused Cordelia to go insane, and tried to turn Angel evil. You don’t know the first thing about morality, Lindsey.”

“You gonna teach me, son of Sam?”

Wesley snapped at that remark. He got up from his chair and pulled a right jab to Lindsey’s chin in one smooth motion. The force was such that Lindsey fell over, chair and all, and landed hard on the cheaply painted concrete ground. Wesley stepped back from the table, expecting Lindsey to continue the fight or call the prison guards to take him away, but he just lay on the floor laughing. Wesley got the joke now.

“Feel better?”, Lindsey said clutching his jaw. 

“Yes, actually. Thank you and sorry about that.” Wesley said, reaching down a hand to lift Lindsey off the ground. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a sneaky little bastard?”

“Everyday.”

 

Angel was in his element. Night. Solitary. He was heading to Wesley’s apartment to get some of his books and personal files. They had exhausted all the books in the hotel and now Cordelia was shifting through his desk looking for clues into possible culprits in his personal stuff. Angel wasn’t sure whether Wesley would mind, but if they didn’t find anything, there was no point in telling Wes.

Even though the street was dark he could see perfectly. His convertible pulled up to the mission-style apartment complex. The street was empty, while this area was one of the better in Los Angeles, even people who had no knowledge of vampires or demons, knew to stay indoors unless you had a purpose or a gun. 

Angel could see into the apartment from street as he started to walk over to it. A sudden movement in the window caught his attention and caused him to stop mid-stride. He saw a middle-aged man moving around Wesley’s apartment, as if searching for something. He stopped suddenly, obviously he had found whatever he was looking for. Angel moved closer to try and see what the man had found. As he did, the man looked up. It wasn’t possible, Angel told himself but he seemed to notice the vampire’s presence a good twenty feet away and hidden behind a bush. The man disappeared from the window quickly carrying what Angel saw for a flash was a book. Interesting. Looks like this trip wasn’t going to be routine after all. 

Angel changed his position around the complex to one more suited for stalking. There was only one entrance out of the building and Angel kept his eyes on it. Success. The man came out quickly carrying one of Wesley’s books. Heading away from Angel towards the sidewalk that lined the deserted street. He kept on walking past a row of cars that Angel’s was included in. No car. Even more interesting. Angel continued to follow, keeping enough distance to avoid detection. He had practiced over 200 years. He had stalking to a fine art.

Maybe not so fine an art. Once again, Angel had the feeling this guy could sense him. The man sped up a little and dropped his book once to take a look behind him. Angel caught it, and was able to hide himself, but he was still convinced that his cover was blown. The man kept walking, but Angel was following a little closer now. He wanted to get a good look, so he could make a composite sketch and Cordy could possibly attach a name to this book thief. He was shorter than Angel, with brown hair styled in a neglected crew cut. Entirely normal clothes, jeans and a polo shirt. That’s what struck Angel the most, his normality. 

But as Angel drew closer, it hit him. This guy wasn’t human. A shape-shifting demon, Angel mused. Now he was very interested. Almost echoing Angel’s increased awareness, the demon(?) turned a corner into an alley. Angel followed quickly, afraid to lose their only lead. He turned the corner lacking any sense of subtleness, ready to make his move and get some answers. 

What he saw was both a let down and a shock. Nothing. The alley was empty. Angel moved cautiously checking behind the dumpsters, but still nothing. The two doors on either side were firmly bolted. So in addition to being a shapeshifter, this guy could make himself invisible? That narrowed down the field. After ten minutes of waiting, pretending to leave, coming back, and sniffing the air, Angel gave up and headed back to Wesley’s apartment. He just hoped the book the guy stole wasn’t too important. Angel knew, though, from previous experiences, the odds of that being true, weren’t too great.


	4. Betrayal

“Any luck?” Cordy said from her position at Wesley’s desk, as Angel entered the hotel.

“You could call it that. I saw a guy stealing a book from Wesley’s apartment, tried to follow him, but he turned a corner and disappeared.”

“Ooh! A shape-shifting book thief who can make himself disappear. I think I have that cross-referenced somewhere.”

“Really?”

“No, I’m kidding.”

“Oh, any word on Gunn?”

“Still unconscious, but Lorne said his vitals are stabilizing.”

“That’s good, I guess. Any luck on your end?”

“Well, you know when we had to dig into Giles personal files to fight that Eeyghon guy, how under the surface Giles had that whole alter ego?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, with Wesley, there’s just more surface. I swear this man had the most dull teenage existence anyone could conceive of.” Cordelia said, tossing down a leather-bound book with gold-lettering on it.

“Watchers Academy.” Angel read on the cover of the book.

“Apparently, that’s the school for watchers that Wesley attended before he came to Sunnydale. Our Wesley was quite the little academian, if that’s any surprise, 2nd in his class.”

“Who beat him? Stephen Hawking?” Angel said leafing through the book. 

“Didn’t say. Some of the files were censored I guess. Imagine that, your high school memories blacked out by some big bureaucra—” 

“This is the guy.” Angel said looking down at the book.

“What?”

“The book thief. That’s him. John Beckham.”

“Looks normal enough to me. Kinda cute.” Cordy said looking at the picture. “So we have a suspect. I’d call that progress. Think that’s the asswipe who shot Gunn?”

“Yeah. Let’s find this guy. Check the usual. Hotels, etc.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Ask around. Obviously, this guy’s got some connection to magic or demons, so chances are someone’s gonna notice a new face in town.”

 

 

For once, Wesley was glad that he had Lindsey as his lawyer. Lindsey had wowed the judge with his legalese and convinced her that Wesley was Martin Luther King Jr., Oscar Romero, and Winston Churchill all rolled into one. He was a free man, or at least a man free on bail. His father had pulled together the 10 thousand to get him out. Wesley had called Angel as soon as he got out, but he didn’t get an answer at the hotel or from his cell, so after a quick stop at his apartment, Wesley was headed to the Hyperion.

He found Cordelia in his usual position at his desk, asleep.

“So I’m gone for 2 days and you’re already trying to take my job?” Wesley joked, waking Cordelia from her slumber.

“Wesley. You got out.” She said getting up to hug him.

“Legally?” Cordy asked half-jokingly, breaking the embrace.

“Yes, of course. I’m out on bail until the trial, but I’m hoping it won’t come to that. How is he?

“The last time I got an update he was still unconscious, but his vitals were getting stronger. So we think we got a possible suspect on the person who put him there. You know this guy?” Cordelia said handing him a photocopied picture of John Beckham.

For a second, the face was entirely foreign to him, but as if being shot, again, he recognized it. Wesley felt the wind being knocked out of him as the memories came flooding back to him. He sat down from the sheer weight. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. Cordelia looked at him trying to discern what had caused such a change.

“What?”

“It can’t be.” Wesley managed to croak out. “Where did you get this?”

“Well, it’s the funniest thing, we were looking into shape-shifting demons and there was this book at the bottom of a pile—“

“Cordelia.”

“We went through your personal files. Angel saw this guy coming out of your apartment. He stole one of your books. Angel tried to follow him and he sort of disappeared around a corner. Then Angel saw him in your yearbook for—“

“Watchers Academy. We were schoolmates, friends.” Wesley said staring at the picture once again. 

“And….?”

“Any luck on finding him so far?” Wesley said, evading that line of questioning. 

“Wesley. Spill it.”

“I met John my first year there. My uncle was a watcher and after his only son, my cousin died, a position was available. My uncle had always understood my desire to get away from my father and for an intellectual challenge so he arranged for me to take his son’s place. John, on the other hand, had come there, by his own merits. He was an experiment for the academy in that he hadn’t inherited the position. I immediately recognized John as my competition. Academically.”

“So he was the guy that beat you out for first place.”

“Yes, but it’s more complicated than that. John and I became friends even as we fought each other for the coveted first place position. My father practically adopted him, as he had no family of his own. We were roommates in our last year there, at that point competition was especially fierce as it became evident that whoever finished at the top of the class would be sent to replace Faith’s deceased watcher. Nearing the end of the term, after a disappointing term paper grade it became obvious to me that John would win, but I kept trying.

One night before a final, I was translating an incantation for exposing a demon’s true visage. It was an especially difficult passage written in several different demonic languages, peppered with some proto-Sumerian. You knew you got the answer right when the spell actually worked, so I finally got it and did the incantation. I could feel the spell working and that’s when it worked a little too well. I looked over at my roommate, sleeping, and he was a demon. A Yersai, to be specific. They’re shape shifters. Although because it is a physical transformation and not an illusion, they’re shapeshifting powers are limited. It usually takes a normal Yersai several weeks to master shifting into a specific persona, although even then, the telltale is the eyes, which for some reason a Yersai cannot change the color of. 

A well-disciplined Yersai can even go invisible for short periods of time, although that greatly limits their movements. Because of their shape-shifting abilities, physical accounts are sketchy, but the demon in its natural visage is approximately 5 feet tall, with a humanoid figure and green mottled skin. It’s natural feeding grounds—”

“Wesley, as much as I’m enjoying this lecture on the Yersai’s feeding grounds as much as my last root canal. What happened next? Did he attack you?”

“No, he just kept on sleeping, after about 10 minutes the spell wore off, and I went to bed. In the morning, I reported him to the Council and they expelled him. He was gone before the day was over. Never heard from him from again and I went to the States a month later. Where’s Angel?”, Wesley shifted his tone, desperate to change the subject.

“Visiting Gunn, which is where I should be too, but I got stuck baby-sitting. Angel should really hire a nanny service or something, this is not in my job description. He tried pumping some of his sources for info on this guy, but got zilch. So what’s with these Yershi? How do we kill them?”

“Yersai.” Wesley corrected Cordelia’s usual colorful reinterpretation of a demon’s proper name. “Oh, well although they are naturally strong, standard slice-and-dice should do the trick, unless they’ve gone invisible, which is unknown, because no one’s ever killed them in that form.”

“Oh.”

Interrupting an awkward moment of silence was Connor, he was awake from his peaceful nap and unhappy. Cordelia went to attend to him and left Wesley with his thoughts.

Of course guilt was the primary one. He ruined his “friend’s” life because of his prejudices and had caused another to be seriously injured. Wesley hadn’t brought himself yet to the possibility that Gunn might die. The Council had commended him for his actions and condemned John as an infiltrator, a spy. Wesley bought the official line, but as far as he knew John had never been anything, but dedicated. Dedicated to helping the world be a better place. 

In fact, John had always been an inspiration to Wesley. Although, Wesley had spouted to his father about wanting to make a difference with the Council, all he ever really wanted to do was prove to his father that he could be a success on his own. John actually believed that stuff, or had at least given Wesley the impression that he had. Now, today, reminded of the incident. He was as sure as ever that John was actually one of the good guys. At least, before his best “friend” betrayed him.

Yes, Wesley knew, guilt in this instance was entirely justified. In this moment of self-reflection, Wesley remembered Angel. The vampire with a soul who had helped him become the man, the leader that usually sat on the other side of the desk. How many people from Angel’s past had come back to haunt him? Too many to count. How did Angel live with this? Endangering the people he cared about because of things he did in his past. Angel had pretty damn good excuse, though, his former self didn’t have a soul. Wesley could make no such claim. So what could he do? 

Wesley didn’t know, but he knew what he wanted to do. Go visit his friend in the hospital. Wesley got up, unsure of what lay ahead, but still possessing some sense of purpose. 

“Cordelia, call Angel for me, let him know I’m going to the hospital, I’ll brief him there on what we’re dealing with.”

 

 

Alone with his thoughts, again, Wesley turned on the radio to distract himself. He had almost reached a small sense of peace until the news came on.

“British private detective Wesley Wyndham-Pryce accused of shooting his employee, Los Angeles native Charles Gunn was released on bond this afternoon. Gunn remains in serious condition at—“

Wesley turned off the radio. He should have known something like that would happen, but he had gotten into the habit of listening to the news for potential clients or new evils popping up. He usually ignored the usual gunshots, rapes, and burglaries, and listened for key words such as “mysterious death”, “animal attack”, or even a fatal mugging was often a catchphrase for vampire attack. Now Wesley was the evil thing.

Wesley parked his recent new acquisition, his silver SUV, in the hospital parking lot and headed toward the building. He was still lost in thought, but beneath the jumble of thoughts his instinct was awakened, someone was following him—

Too late to react now, a hand was already around the back of his neck, at the same time that his right arm was grabbed and pulled, painfully, around his back. Wesley couldn’t get away and if this was a vampire, he’d be dead, but it wasn’t.

“Hello Wesley. Good to see you again.” 

“John, listen to me. I know you’re angry but—“

With that, his unseen assailant smashed Wesley’s face into a nearby car. Wesley winced, internally at the pain caused to his forehead, but he wouldn’t let John see him flinch. 

“Angry? Why would I be angry? Because you ruined my life? Because you stole what was rightfully mine? Or how about because the Council imprisoned me for 3 and half years after you ratted me out?”

John broke his iron grip on Wesley’s arm only to throw him into the blue sedan that had been his weapon of choice. The impact on his head made him dizzy, but he was still conscious and now he had an idea. Wesley fell on the ground limp, mimicking unconsciousness, except for his hand which slipped in his pocket for his only option at this point: a dart that had been in there since he had visited the pub several nights ago. He felt John move closer to him and waited for a couple excruciating seconds and then lunged, jabbing the dart into John’s face.

John stepped back, clutching his face, that was beginning to bleed as Wesley quickly pulled the dart out brandishing it as his only defense. He was in pain, but also severely teed off, which was further demonstrated as he reverted to his demon self. Wesley braced himself for the worst, but nothing happened. John’s attention was focused on something that Wesley couldn’t see and the demon ran off, retreating into a manhole conveniently in the parking lot. 

“Wesley, is that you?” Angel said, still some distance away. 

“Yes, I was attacked.” Wesley said trying get up from his seated position, but finding himself unsteady.

“By that demon guy?” Angel said, reaching Wesley and helping him to his feet. 

Wesley shook his head in affirmation. “He retreated to the sewer after seeing you I guess.”

“Come on, Wes, let’s get you inside, he got you pretty good.” Angel said, pointing to the now bleeding cut above his eyebrow.

“Good idea.”

“I know this isn’t the best time to tell you this, but Gunn woke up.”

“When?”

“About ten minutes ago. The docs were still checking him out when I came out to get you, but he seemed to be ok.” 

“That’s fantastic.”

“Yeah, we’ll go see him after we get you patched up.”


End file.
